The Barriers Fall
by Ankalagon
Summary: "Why are we in a broom closet Malfoy?"


"Why are we in a broom closet, Malfoy?"

Harry looks impatient and nervous and annoyed, palming his wand; On his return to the dorms from the kitchens, Malfoy has all but thrown him in here, without warning, shaking all the while.

With determination, Harry conjures blue flames and prepares to retaliate - with words if necessary, with force if need be. The green eyed teen gazes at the Slytherin steadily. Only the look of Draco's face stalls Harry's indignant response - Malfoy's face is _white_, an unnatural paleness far beyond his natural coloring.

The Malfoy heir turns and seals the closet's door, with a multitude of spells that Harry hasn't even _heard_ of and then sags against it, panting. His eyes are unnaturally bright, Harry thinks, as if from fever, or perhaps psychotropic potions. For long seconds he doesn't speak, only taking in large gulps of air, trying in vain to calm his breathing. Minutes pass, Malfoy still isn't speaking - Harry's patience runs thin; he snaps.

"What the hell is going on Malfoy? If this another of your idiotic schemes I'll hex you into oblivion!"

His outburst contains more discomfort than anger. He doesn't want to admit it to himself, but Draco's behavior is starting to spook him - simply because it's so different from the norm. Draco Malfoy in Harry's presence is one (or all) of three things; smug, annoying, condescending. For him to act this way, it means that something extraordinary has happened. Harry hates extraordinary happenings. Their occurrence usually spells danger for him and his friends, often of the lethal variety.

The blonde is still not speaking. Harry, now getting annoyed, acts.

"Right, that does it you git. _Aquamenti!_"

A thin column of water bursts from the Holly wand, hitting the other boy in the face, drenching his clothes in the process. Malfoy splutters, coughing all the while and Harry, almost smiling at the blonde's ridiculous appearance, stops the spell.

The shock seems to wake the Slytherin. Lightning-fast, he stands and draws his wand. In a moment he is dry and seems to have to have regained some of his composure. He casts a warming charm on his clothes and Harry mimics him. It does seem a bit chilly in the cramped closet.

Only, the Slytherin's eyes remain unnaturally bright - again their sight makes Harry think of a fever. Perhaps the blonde has caught something, due to the coldness of the night? Malfoy is silent for a moment, seemingly in thought, wand held tightly in his left hand. At long last, he speaks.

"Even at a time like this Potter, one can count on you to act like a bloody imbecile." he says in a clipped tone.

Harry is incensed. Malfoy is back at his usual self - that means it's time for him to leave, lest he is tempted to cast one of the Curses he's been practicing.

"Get out of my way, you idiot. You've wasted enough of my time - if Filch or Snape give me detention for being out in curfew, you and I will have _words_.", Harry spats.

The blonde doesn't respond for a moment. Then he sidesteps from his position in front of the door and replies, casually "By all means Potter. Feel free to proceed to your death."

Harry almost makes the first step, but again, something stops him. He spies a strange smirk in the Slytherin's face, but it's the other boy's tone that affects him. There is no mockery, no smugness. His word is simply... factual.

"What the bloody hell d'you mean by my death?", Harry retorts angrily. Strangely, as Malfoy gets calmer, Harry is starting to feel more and more nervous. Death threats from the Slytherin is nothing new, but the entire situation feels surreal.

Harry's blood runs cold. It's not helped by the coldness of the room. What if Malfoy is alluding to a Death Eater attack? Some of them are in Azkaban, true, and Dumbledore has mentioned nothing about a possible attack, yet Voldemort is erratic. Who can truly predict a madman's actions?

With deliberation, heart rate climbing, Harry raises his wand between the Slytherin's eyes. "Are your daddy's friends here Malfoy? Why aren't you running with them? Are you that much of a coward, bolting to protect your pathetic hide instead of joining your Master?", he accuses.

Malfoy looks unflappable. For a long minute, once more, he _stares_, keeping quiet, maddening the Gryffindor.

"Answer me!", Harry thunders, "or I'll put you under bloody _Tormenta_!"

The Slytherin, realizing a threat, unfreezes. That, at the very least, he knows to respond to.

"Torturous Dark Magic, eh Potter? How very amusing.", he sneers. "As for the rest of your moronic assumptions... unfortunately, for all of us, there are no Death Eaters in Hogwarts.", he pauses, and looks at the door. His next words are almost too quiet and spoken with fear.

"No, there is something much more terrible than Death Eaters out there."

Harry feels a chill run down his spine. The Slytherin is confusing him - Harry doesn't like being confused. Bravado he feels, is the answer.

"For fuck's sake Malfoy. How the fucking hell is it unfortunate that there are no Death Eaters here? And what in the name of Merlin is more terrible than them!".

The blonde turns to the door once more. He sighs, wearily, and starts to speak.

"It's no surprise that you are clueless Potter. Always have you stumbled around blindly, relying on chance and the favor of those more powerful. Always you have succeeded, through no effort or skill of your own. Well, almost always. Some have paid the price of your failures, have they not?"

Harry flushes with shameful anger. He usually withstands Malfoy's insults easily, but this time they hit far too close to home. Instinctively the Gryffindor goes to retaliate - with fists, words or wand, even he doesn't know - but Malfoy is faster; he turns, a magical dome spreading around him, his face a mask of utmost seriousness;

"What is the date, Potter?"

Harry is caught off guard. Baffled by the question, he blurts mechanically;

"What the bloody hell does that have to with anything?"

The Slytherin, countenance filled with graveness repeats

"Please, dim-witted mediocrity that you are, even you must know the date."

"It's the bloody twentieth of bloody December!", Harry retorts furiously. Malfoy is making him lose his balance, cutting insults mixed with strange behaviour. And now the blonde is checking his... watch?

"Alas, no Potter. If only it were the twentieth. You see, Midnight stroke three quarters of an hour ago.", Malfoy informs. Taking a breath, his voice rises abruptly , "That means it's the bloody _TWENTY FIRST_ OF BLOODY DECEMBER!".

Harry makes a face at Malfoy's shouting at the end. The blonde is obviously unbalanced, yelling about dates and whatnot. Harry thinks he has an idea of how to handle the Slytherin now.

"Right, Draco, it's the twenty first. Now go sniff some more Black Lotus or whatever hallucinogenic potion you're taking. I've had enough of your insanity."

Harry makes to dispel the spells on the door; without warning the Slytherin _lunges_ at him. The Gryffindor is, if not strong, at least agile and dexterous. He should win in a physical fight between the two, yet Draco fights like a man possessed. Harry's wand tumbles from his fingers; wrestling, both teens fall to the floor scuffling around, miscellaneous items of the closet banging in the enclosed space. After what seems like an hour, but is only a minute at the most, Malfoy manages a punch in the Gryffindor's solar plexus. Harry doubles over in pain and shock, while Malfoy stands over him, watching, an unholy light burning in his eyes.

"Don't you understand fool?", he screams, "Midnight of the Winter Solstice! The darkest night of the year!", his voice reaches a _crescendo_ "The Barriers are at their weakest - so insubstantial, even a pathetic wizard like you could pierce them!"

Harry, wind still knocked out of him, watches the Slytherin in fear. Perhaps Malfoy has reached psychosis, he thinks. All that Dark Magic - maybe it has left the other boy crazy, maddened by stray thoughts. He thinks to keep the blonde talking, until he can recover, maybe get back his wand.

"W-What do you mean by, ugh, barriers?", he asks the other, whizzing.

"The Barriers Potter! Do you know nothing at all? The ancient wards weaved around this world, it's vanguard against unspeakable horrors." Draco responds with a trembling voice, exasperation mixed with anger mixed with... fear?

Somewhat recovered from the hit, Harry thinks on Malfoy's words. That didn't sound like psychotic nonsense, he reasons. More like a recital of knowledge. He decides to inquire further.

"What are those barriers exactly? What's their purpose? And what d'you mean by unspeakable horrors?" he asks.

Malfoy straightens and adopts a lecturing posture "It is taught to all pureblood children", he begins, "that millennia ago, the human race was not the dominant one upon this world. Abominations, of demonic form and tremendous psychic might ruled the Earth. The Great Old Ones they were called and they were nigh invincible. To simply gaze upon one meant madness - of the kind were only death was a relief. " Malfoy pauses to breathe and gather his thoughts; Harry shivers, from the tale or the room's cold and watches, interested beyond himself.

"For hundreds of years, they feasted upon us. They drew sustenance from human souls, and when they fed, nothing remained of a human, but an empty husk. Only one was their weakness; the light of the sun, which they hated and feared."

Malfoy starts pacing, the action seemingly helping him think, "Doom was to be our fate, to be consumed utterly by our Masters."

"It was then, that magic was gifted to man."

Harry stands enamored by the story; he had all but forgotten their fight, or his bruises. Malfoy glances at him for a moment and continues.

"How or why we were granted this gift, no one knows. But year by year, witches and wizards started being born among the scattered human tribes. And slowly they became the wise men and women of their people, helping them survive. The tribes ran and ran, to places where the sunlight blazed brighter and longer, with the aid of the magic-users."

"And so centuries passed. Humans were still naught but food to the Old Ones. But man was strengthening. More children were born, and so, more witches and wizards. They started to learn, better, more cunning ways to control their magic. They brought greater numbers of men together, making tribes into large, disciplined caravans."

"Man prospered. For the first time in history, there was hope. For the wizards had crafted strong magics, potent enough to hide them from the Old Ones - even during the night. All was well."

Draco inhales,

"Until the Old Ones summoned their servants."

Draco exhales.

"The Old Ones were not of this land, you see. They had consumed countless other worlds, enslaving some the races they encountered. And their servants did not fear the sunlight."

"They must have been concerned, to react so strongly. Perhaps they feared magic, having not encountered a force like it before. For they ordered their servants to slaughter all humans they could find. Their aim was no longer sustenance, but extermination."

"The human race no longer consisted of rag-tag bands of survivors, however. They were many, they were armed and magic-users protected them. The war began in earnest."

"At first the humans were hopeful. The elements, shaped by magic, eradicated the armies of the Old Ones. Fire and lightning and the sea's waves battered their attackers. With every victory, they grew hopeful - they could win back their world, destroy their Overlords."

Malfoy's eyes blaze with intensity.

"They were wrong."

"For every demonic servant they killed, a hundred took its place. The Old Ones' power was almost limitless; they could summon armies with but a thought. The human race never had a chance."

"Within months, three quarters of their population were butchered. Driven now by a terrible fear, the most powerful magic-users sent a summons across the world; all wizards were to gather in one location, in the center of the Earth: the equator. The great gathering, as it came to be known."

"Those ancient wizards - they knew not of wand or staff or focus; father taught to son and mother to daughter, that magic was shaped by _intent_. To focus that intent, gestures were used - and so were the first rituals created."

"The mightiest of the magic-users realized their folly just as the gathering neared completion. They had thought to pool their might, strike with all of their strength a final blow against the Old Ones. They realized, it wouldn't be enough."

"Throughout the years of shaping their power, they had learned: magic was made stronger by _offering_. Toil and sweat for a spell of labour; flesh for strong enchantment; blood for protection."

"But the greatest offering had always been _**life**_."

"As the wizards saw with second sight the Old Ones endless armies encroaching, battering their protections, testing their strength, they gave into despair. The end was nigh for them. All that they had built, all their struggles had been for nothing."

"A final plan was devised."

"The greatest offering had always been _**life**_."

"It begun and ended in the Day of the Longest Light - the Summer Solstice. The last few thousands of magic-users had finally gathered. As the sun reached it's highest point in the sky, one by one, every wizard and witch prepared to meet their destiny."

"The greatest offering had always been _**life**_."

"Crying, singing, screaming their defiance at the Great Old Ones, every magic-user added her will to the spell. They commited ritual suicide. And their will was absolute."

"_**Go now unto the Dark**_."

"It was too much for the enemy, for all that they were almost Gods. The magic scoured the Earth, powered by the willing sacrifice of thousands. The Old Ones, their servants - all were banished, to the Darkness between the Stars."

"They did not go quietly. At their final moment, they cast their malevolent will upon this world. Floods and earthquakes and storms ravaged the land, killing all but a few hundreds of humans."

"It is from those few hundreds that humanity was reborn."

"It is from the ancient sacrifice of those witches and wizards, that this world is until today protected from _them_."

Harry waits for a minute, then realising that the Slytherin has finished his tale. The blond seems spent, the tale having taken something from him. He gazes at the other boy.

"Malfoy? You alright?", he asks.

"Your concern is ever so touching Potter.", Malfoy replies, rubbing his temples. pulling his robes for warmth.

Comforted by the sarcastic rebuke, Harry turns his thoughts to the story he has just heard. Maybe, he thinks, this is the wizards' creationism. Most religions of the world have a story of cataclysm - why not the wizards? It seems so outlandish a tale - and yet, it conjures powerful emotions in him, terror and pride in equal parts for the Old Ones and the ancient wizards respectively.

He debates internally, but cannot help himself to hold this question;

"Why did you tell me that legend Malfoy?"

Draco doesn't even look up. He seems tired now and cold, weary of everything. His answer is in monotone.

"This is no legend Potter. It's factual history. It's in our blood. From father to son and mother to daughter. Even to this day, the Barriers that were raised against _them_ protect us. But they weaken tonight, they weaken so much. It is our great misfortune that someone has taken advantage of it."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOMEONE TOOK ADVANTAGE OF IT?", Harry cries. It's not possible that Malfoy is implying that...

"There are cults Potter, of wizards and muggles both, that worship _them_. Even today."

Harry feels the stirrings of horror in his chest. Surely not...

"There are books, forbidden tomes, that detail their summoning."

Harry springs up and pulls his wand.

A tired, defeated voice.

"All it takes is a page of the _Cthäat Aquadingen_ and five Slytherin fools."

"You're talking the piss Malfoy!" Harry bursts.

The Slytherin raises his head a final time. His eyes are bloodshot now and the cold gives his face a blueish hue.

"If only I was, Potter. It won't be long now. The nightmare approaches."

Harry truly _feels_ it this time: frostiness spreads everywhere ; and a terrible hunger fills him, draining his energy.  
>Beyond the physical, beyond the mental, beyond what the dementors are capable of.<p>

He !imagines? alien words slipping in his mind.

_**THERE IS NO ESCAPE**_

Unimaginable dread fills him.

The sealing spells on the door rattle and fade.

_Silence_.


End file.
